Chapter Two

I awake at 2:00PM the next day. I roll over and wince at the time before rolling onto my back again. Time to get up and work. I notice Pet is slumbering on the bed beside me. She was especially attentive last night, and I could tell she was putting her best efforts into it. I decide to leave her in bed a while as a small reward. Climbing out of bed, I make my way barefoot across the hardwood floor to the small gym I have set up just off of the bedroom. After a long hard workout, I go to the bathroom. A shower and shave later and I feel almost human again.

Stopping on the way through the kitchen, I get coffee and toast before getting fully dressed. Today, I select a pair of blue jeans and white tee shirt with a light gray sweat shirt over it. The dungeon tends to be cool of late, since it is passing from fall to winter, and I don’t want to get a chill. The “guests” on the other hand have to get used to it anyway, so I see no need to coddle them. After all, it’s for their own good.

I pause a moment, remembering my personal companion of the evening before is still in the bed. I go back to the bedroom and find her lying on her stomach, her ass just barely above the edge of the sheets. Like Marjorie, her arms are bound behind her back. Her breasts are spread out slightly from her ribs on either side. She is quite buxom, and I thoroughly enjoy every inch of her. Her dark hair braid reaches almost to the bottom crevice of her ass. Her mouth is open and she has drooled onto the bed sheets slightly. I frown slightly, then walk over and slap her ass once - hard!

My pet awakes with a start, her eyes flying open. She is instantly awake, and knowing her place immediately begins frantically sliding on her stomach across the bed before rolling onto the floor, the bed sheets winding around her as she goes and her large breasts dragging across the surface along with her.

“I want this place clean by the time I get back. If you don’t, I’ll find someone else who will appreciate your position and put you back on the auction block. Understand?” I glare at her as I speak. It is all an act of course, she’s too fine a piece of ass to discard so lightly, but I don’t want her to relax one bit.

I turn and walk away, and hear her removing the bed sheets as I go. She has to use her teeth and feet to clean the apartment, and she knows that is the only reason she is not condemned to wearing the ring gag like all of the other livestock. She also appreciates the fact that she wasn’t fitted for a pony tail, which is more for my own easy access than it is for her benefit, but again she doesn’t care why as long as the circumstances don’t change. She has the bedspread between her teeth, pulling it gently so as not to tear it. By the time I return she will, somehow, have gotten a clean bedspread onto the mattress and the old one will be washed. After doing so, she will continue cleaning the apartment.

Taking the elevator down to the basement, I step out and saunter leisurely towards the dungeon, flicking the light switch as I go. Fluorescent lights flicker and dim, they flare briefly before beginning a slow steady glow. When I arrive, I see that the woman I have had to punish is now more than completely broken. She can barely lift her head. Opening the cage door, I lift her out, and carry her back to her cell. I force water and pureed food down her throat before leaving her. She’ll survive, and will think twice before trying to escape again any time soon. I make a mental note to keep an eye on her for the next week until she is back to some semblance of health. Then I make my way to Marjorie’s cell. She is in one corner, her bare bottom obviously chilled on the cold floor, her legs drawn up to her chest, the chain loosely laying between her ankles. She has a vacant stare, which is almost hilarious over her round and open mouth. I fill her feed dish with water and food and slip it through the slot in the bars. If she wants to eat, she will have to get on her knees and eat and drink directly from the bowls, without the use of her hands which of course were secured behind her back. I figure it will take her about a day to get used to it and move on to feeding the rest of my stock.

The next hour or so was spent cleaning out the cells as well as the occupants with a high pressure water hose. I don’t bother to use warm water, as again my clients won’t when they purchase their livestock. I also don’t bother to provide toilet facilities to them, as again they have to get used to a more basic style of living. So I am actually doing them a favor by getting them used to it early. As the water stream pounds against their flesh, they twist and turn to get away from it. I make sure to wash the floors down thoroughly, and the waste goes down a trench drain running across the front of the cell. By the time I’m done, they’re drenched and the entire cell is soaked. The concrete floor and walls of each cell are sealed under a water proofing gray paint, and so the water just pools quickly in small uneven puddles in each cell. Since it cannot soak into the concrete, it will dry quickly.

I notice Marjorie is still sitting in her corner. She has to use the bathroom, and I can see it in her eyes, but she is holding it back and fidgeting. That’s ok. I know eventually she will give up and concede the inevitable. I’ll make sure by putting a bit of laxative in her food just to make certain. In the meantime, I put off fitting her for a ponytail. Part of the conditioning process is to make them stop thinking of themselves as human or as having any choices, and that includes basic body functions. The sooner she relents and does what comes naturally, the sooner we can get on with the program.

After finishing my chores, I go back upstairs and fetch my daily newspaper. Pet is still struggling with the bed sheets. I stand at the doorway briefly and glare at her. She notices my presence but never lets up on her efforts. Her eyes keep darting back and forth between her chores and me. Finally, she has the fitted bed sheet off the mattress and clinched between her teeth. She begins dragging it to the laundry room.

I walk back into the kitchen and open a can of tuna, and pour it into pet’s feed dish. I also pour her some milk in the other bowl, and place both next to her bedding in one corner of the kitchen before I leave. I like to keep her very thin and very fit, which exaggerates her breasts, so I keep her available food quite restricted. I’m confident that she will have the entire residence spotless when I return.

I drive my motorcycle downtown and have a late lunch in a small diner that I favor, shooting the bull with the other diner patrons and the waitress. If they only knew what I did for a living, they would be dumbfounded. It would be another one of those stories in the paper where the neighbors and friends describe the perpetrator as a “nice guy”, or a “quiet person”, who never bothered anybody. I maintain enough personal contacts to keep things in perspective, but I really don’t count any close friends. Even my customers are not my friends, just a way to make a living. A few more years at this rate, and I can retire early.

By early afternoon, I get a call on my cell phone. It’s a coded message from one of my best customers. We never discuss business over the phone or internet, it’s always in person and under the most controlled of circumstances. That’s one more reason we’re still in business and not in prison. Agreeing to meet in an hour, I figure I have enough time to finish my pie and coffee before returning home. I time it almost exactly right as a Mercedes pulls into the drive right behind me as I pull into the building. I give them enough time to get through the door before closing it immediately behind them. They know their way and continue to drive down to the basement as I make sure the door is closed. Minutes later I’m parking next to them in the basement.

Samantha is already out of her car, and leaning against it with her arms crossed. She is wearing black leather pants and a white silk blouse. Her waist length black hair hangs straight down her back. Her green eyes glint mischievously at me from beneath her dark bangs. A very wealthy individual, she inherited her father’s newspaper business, and always pays very well and on time. My kind of customer. Her tastes are definitely more of the kinky variety - even in this business - and require a constant flow of fresh meat to satisfy.

“Got anything new?” she asks as I remove my helmet.

“Just picked one up last night. If you’re interested, she can be ready soon. She‘ll still be very green of course, and you’d better keep a tight rein on her for several months, but she can be ready in short order.”

“Really? Let’s have a look then!” With that, Samantha proceeds down the corridor, perfectly at home in this type of environment. I admire her ass as she strides purposefully, and think again how good it would be to have more than a professional relationship with her. Just as quickly I put the thought out of my mind. It wouldn’t do to mix business and pleasure.

Arriving at the dungeon proper, I can already hear the women shifting in their cells and moving towards the back. Not that it would have kept anyone from getting a decent look at them, it just made them feel a little better.

Samantha has a real taste for flesh, and immediately spies the newcomer. Striding to her cell, she stands in front of it with her feet slightly apart and her hands on her hips, studying Marjorie. Marjorie, for her part, remains at the back of her cell, staring back at the two of us, her mind finally managing to fixate on a more detailed possibility of the horrors she had imagined throughout the previous night.

“Well, let’s have a look at her, shall we?” Samantha is as enthusiastic as ever.

“Sure, just give me a minute to unlock the door.” Fishing the key out, I open the door and step inside. A moment later Marjorie is stumbling along behind me through the cell door, my fingers twined into her hair. Spinning her around, I pull her back against me where her ass is against my crotch. I kept my grip on her hair, and from this position, she has to stand on her toes to take the strain off her hair. It also ensures that her breasts are properly presented for inspection as her arms, pinned as they are behind her back and pressed against my own chest, cause her to naturally arch her back. Samantha looks on appreciatively as I cup first one breast, then the other, squeezing them tightly. I can feel the tissue under my grip roll about, and remembering the night before I can feel myself becoming aroused again. I decide however that it will have to wait.

“Nice, if I do say so myself! Wherever did you find this one?” Samantha reaches out and pinches April’s right nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Pulling it towards her, April tries to move forward slightly to take the painful strain off, only to find that I don’t relent in holding her hair tightly. She has a choice, endure the pain in her nipple, or endure the pain in her scalp. I feel her buttocks shift up and down against my crotch as she tries to gain some sort of relief, and her bound arms move slightly from side to side against my chest and stomach. She finally decides to endure the nipple pulling and bites harder into her ring bit as she takes the strain off of her hair. A small whine is coming from April now, and she squeezes her eyes closed.

“Ha, it doesn’t matter now does it? You interested or not?” I have my hand on April’s right hip, and nudge it forward slightly, further exaggerating her posture. I notice that April is shifting from one foot to the other now, desperate to take the strain off her hair as she arches her back even more drastically. Samantha still pinches one of April’s nipple, and it’s pulled straight out from her breast.

“Absolutely! She’ll make a fine addition to my stable. You know I recently had to let one of my pony girls go. She was just getting too old to continue. But I did get a good three years out of her. I think this would be a fine replacement.”

I don’t ask how she “let her go”.

“It’s a deal then. Of course there is a slight premium for this one. I can’t afford to just give fine flesh such as this away!” With that statement, I slide my hand around to cup her right breast, then slide it down the front of her body, stopping at her cunt before slipping a finger inside her with an audible squishing sound. Marjorie stood a little higher on her toes, trying to pull up and away only to be forced down onto my hand as I pulled her hair back harder. The whimper is most satisfying. I can see the gleam in Samantha’s eye as she catches the sound. Licking her lips slightly, she breathed out “It’s a deal. What ever the price, I want her!”

Stepping forward, Samantha cups Marjorie’s chin and looks her in the eye. Moving so close her own breasts are crushing into Marjorie‘s, she says “You’re going to be mine soon. Get used to the idea, cause we are going to have a lot of fun together. Fun at least for me.” With that last statement, Samantha flicks her fingers contemptuously to one side, causing Marjorie’s head to twist sharply. By now Marjorie is becoming inured to the constant abuse and fear, and only looks down at the floor. For my part, I can almost feel her heart beating more fiercely now, and her cunt was well lubricated around my fingers. Deciding she has had enough enjoyment for one day, I turn her around and once again shove her into her cell and down onto her knees before locking the door behind her. I escort Samantha back to her car before heading upstairs to write up the paper work.

Chapter Three

Pet has done a decent job of cleaning the residence by the time I come through the door. She has heard the elevator, and is waiting for me at the front door on her knees with her forehead on the floor, just as I have trained her. Her long braided hair is centered down her back, and the tuft at the end is at the top of her buttocks. Her ass makes a lovely sort of heart shape in this position, and I decide I will take her again this evening - if not earlier. Other than that I ignore her as I enter.

I do a perfunctory inspection and decide she has performed adequately. She’s even placed her empty feed and water dishes in the dishwasher and the dishes are clean. The cabinets are located below the countertop, in order to allow her to put them away after she takes them out of the dishwasher. My guests are always amazed at how much she can do in such a restrained fashion, and more than one has offered an excellent price for Pet. I’ve always turned them down however. For the moment, she serves a valuable function, and besides, it’s a lot of trouble to train a new Pet. I’m content for now in the knowledge that when I do finally sell her, I’ll make a very handsome profit.

I proceed to my office and begin to type the paperwork up on Marjorie. She’ll have a pedigree that starts with me as her original owner, and this paperwork will follow her throughout her life as a slave. Subsequent owners will add their names to the documents, as well as the transaction dates. If a new owner decides to rename her, this information will also be added to the documents.

It takes me about an hour to finish, and I place the documents in a large manila envelope. When Samantha and I sign the documents and have a very special notary place her seal on them, I’ll keep an original copy and forward the other original document with the livestock.

After finishing the paperwork, I leave again and go out to dinner. I dine alone at a favorite restaurant of mine on the other side of town, and consider how best to proceed with April’s training. She’ll bring a better price as a trained pony girl rather than an untrained slave. Afterwards, I drive across town to a theatre and enjoy one of the late running blockbuster movies playing on one of the theater’s fourteen screens.

I leave the theater minutes before midnight. As I walk the few blocks back to the parking deck and my van, I notice some shadows behind me. I slow my pace, my mind going through a myriad of possibilities as to who it is. It may be the law, or it may be a private investigator, or it may just be a coincidence. I won’t know for another few minutes, but I don’t want to lead them to my vehicle either until I know what’s going on. I pause as I pass a shop window, and study the lighted display behind the glass. It’s a jewelry store, and I actually notice that there’s a nice selection of watches and men’s rings. I make a mental note to come back later when I can actually spend more time browsing. In the meantime, my shadows - there are two of them - have also stopped.

They’re a couple in their late twenties and they have backed into a small door alcove and begun to kiss passionately while murmuring sweet nothings to each other. The man drops his hand down to his date’s ass and squeezes gently as he kisses her. She stiffens somewhat at the touch, then relaxes and returns the kiss even more deeply as she pointedly slides his hand back up to her waist. Both are wearing dark business suits. His hair is short and black and slicked down, hers is blonde and straight and only neck length. They appear oblivious to me. Casually, I turn and continue on my way. After a few minutes, I notice footsteps again behind me.

I round the corner at the intersection and duck into the shadows. I’m so practiced at it, I can blend in just about anywhere and not be seen. My hand is already inside my coat, under my left arm, and I am releasing the holster strap holding my silenced pistol in place. The checkered grip of the firearm is warm to the touch from my own body heat. It’s a custom built piece, created of various types of ceramics and composite materials. I can literally walk through an airport with it without being flagged, and it’s completely untraceable. As they turn the corner seconds later, they are no longer the love-struck couple anyone would have seen in the doorway. Both have set, determined expressions on their faces. The male actually already has a pistol out and the female was fumbling in her purse for some reason. I can pretty much guess that she is going for either a pistol herself or a communications device. They are mumbling something quietly but earnestly to each other.

“I told you we’d lose him if we didn’t follow closer!” from the woman.

“Shhh, if we get anywhere near him you’ll give us away! Just get on the radio and call for backup now! Confirm we have him in sight and we need assistance immediately.” the man said. He was so busy staring down the sidewalk and talking down his subordinate, he was not even aware of what was going on immediately around him even as he walked within a couple of paces of me.

“If he gets away, I’m not going to take the fall for it. Do you hear me? It was your idea to hang back, now look what’s happened.” the woman snapped back.

“Well if you hadn’t been such a prude we wouldn’t have to worry so much! What the hell is wrong with you? You acted like a school girl on her first date! He probably saw and he’s onto us now!”

“Well excuse me, but I am not used to my partner - my professional associate - groping my ass and sticking his tongue down my throat! Give me some warning next time you plan to cop a feel!”

I notice now that both are dressed in dark business suits. The kind government alphabet agencies favor. His is an expensive tailored suit, hers is a pinstriped dark gray suit. She has the radio out now. It is not turned on yet, she’s still too busy arguing to even call someone who would care. Both are striding at a fast pace, almost a run now as they feel they have lost me, and their footsteps would have been a giveaway even if I had not already been onto them. At this point I make a rash decision. I step out of the shadows behind them after they’ve passed, my pistol already pulling up and the laser sight is lining up on the back of the man’s head. It feels heavier than it really is, and with the built in silencer there is a definite muzzle heavy feel to it. I prefer it that way, as it makes for a steadier sight picture. Everything is very tactile, and I can actually feel the checkering of the phenolic grips where the heel of my hand is in contact with the pistol. My palms are moist from adrenaline, and my heart is beating like a trip hammer. There is nothing else in the world right now, and I experience a bit of tunnel vision. My entire attention is focused on the task at hand, and a bus could roll over me right now and I wouldn’t know it.

I begin to squeeze the trigger just as the laser point is passing up between his shoulder blades, with the trigger breaking just as the front sight passes the base of his neck. I snap off one shot, feeling the short backward shove of recoil as the bullet heads downrange. With the silencer, there is no sound other than that of a subsonic .45 caliber frangible bullet slapping into flesh and bone. Of course there is a small amount of mechanical motion from the firearm slide reciprocating back into battery, but the noise level is so quiet that one would not even have noticed it unless they knew what it was. There is also a faint ping as the expended cartridge brass dumps into a built in brass catcher on the side of the weapon. It’s designed to kill in an untraceable manner, and that’s exactly what just happened.

He never had a clue what hit him as he stumbles forward, his automotive functions still going on reflex even as blood pools up inside his eyeballs. The bullet has disintegrated on impact, dumping all of it’s energy on target as dozens of small metal shards penetrate his skull, then scatter throughout his brain matter, shredding everything in it’s path. There will be nothing traceable when the body is found. A second later he is stumbling face forward into the sidewalk. His companion, pausing in mid-complaint, stops short and stares stupidly down at her partner, the radio held loosely in her hand. I’m sure she has a weapon as well, but she hasn’t bothered to draw it.

Complete amateurs.

Her gaze fixates on her dead partner, spastically twitching on the sidewalk, a large hole oozing blood out of the back of his head, then follows the obvious path of the bullet back to me. I already have the gun trained between her eyes.

“Scream and I’ll blow your head off.” The statement sounds ludicrously calm, even to me. But without all of the commotion of blast and flash normally associated with gunshots, her mind has an opportunity to take it in and continue working. I already have pressure on the trigger, and all it will take is a few additional ounces of pressure to silence her forever. Her next decision will affect everyone tremendously. If I have to take her down, I won’t have a clue as to what is going on, if they are onto me or perhaps I have stumbled into something quite by accident. For that primary reason, I want her to remain rational long enough for me to question her. A secondary reason is she would make quite an addition to my inventory. I’m always thinking of the bottom line.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…..uh….ah…….oohhhhhhhh…..” She is about to break, and appears on the verge of hysteria. Her eyes have a wild look and her mouth is open and working but nothing intelligible is coming out.

“I said, keep quiet, unless you want your brains all over the sidewalk as well. Now drop the purse and radio! Now!” I realize that I have to give her something to respond to, to keep her instincts from fully kicking in. She starts to drop the radio, only to have her hand disobey and not release. It is almost hilarious the way she actually shakes her hands a few times as if the items were stuck to her fingers. A few attempts later and the purse and radio are clattering onto the sidewalk. The butt of a small revolver is just visible inside the open top of the purse. She is looking at me now, wide eyed, her hands raised even though I didn’t tell her to do so.

I spend a few seconds slipping my gloves on before dragging her partner one-handed into the shadows, keeping my own gun steady on the woman the entire time. Anybody driving by will not see him from the street, and anybody walking down the sidewalk will probably just assume he‘s a vagrant passed out in the alley. I make sure to grab his handcuffs before leaving the body. I pick up her purse and radio and stand back up.

“Good. Now drop your hands. You look silly and you’ll attract attention. Turn around and start walking.” I know of an empty lot I can take her to for a more thorough body search, then I can make my way back to my van. She may have a hidden wire or even a backup gun, though as amateurish as she has been so far I doubt it. If all goes well, she’ll be my newest guest tonight.

Chapter Four

We walk perhaps two blocks before ducking behind a vacant building. There used to be another building immediately behind it, but it burnt down and the lot was eventually cleared, leaving only the adjoining masonry walls, the exposed concrete floor, and some scorched steel beams overhead. From this vantage point one can actually see stars in the evening sky through the odd zigzag pattern of steel structure. The moon is not quite past the edge of the masonry walls yet, but the faint moonlight is already seeping into the empty lot turning everything a strange ghostly white.

The woman’s blonde hair has an odd glow about it in the moonlight, and I notice how she stumbles about. Either she is very clumsy, is night blind, or just so nervous about her situation that she can barely function. Either way, I make her go over to the wall and turn around, placing her hands high and to both sides with feet apart. I notice that she has very long slender fingers that stand out in strong contrast to the scorched masonry wall.

“Are you going to kill me?” It comes out as more of a plaintive wail than an actual question. It also reveals just how shallow her thinking is right now. After all, if I’d wanted to kill her I could have done so when I took her partner out.

“Against the wall, spread ‘em!” I grin at the irony of the circumstances. Here I am, the criminal, forcing the officer to assume the position at the wall for a body search. I move in closer, pistol at arm’s length until the muzzle contacts the back of her neck. She cries out a bit and hugs closer to the wall to move away from the gun, which I just push forward to maintain contact. In the end, she is flat face first to the wall, arms straight out, pinned by the gun.

I do a quick but thorough pat down, checking her for more weapons, radio’s, or covert wires. I start at her wrists, feeling her arms through her jacket and making sure there is nothing else, literally, up her sleeves. Then I check inside her collar, and her hair. I find no ear pieces or electronic bugs. I move down further, checking her arm pits, pausing to take a gratuitous feel of her breasts. I notice they are firm and quite natural to the touch, at least a D-cup. She knows I’m not really searching, but rather groping at this point, but the muzzle pressing into her neck right under her ear dissuades her from protesting. Her breathing is very ragged and heavy.

I move down her ribs and stomach, and check her back and waist. She is very fit, and her clothing is cut close to show off her figure accordingly. I find a pair of handcuffs and extra ammo for her revolver at her waist band. I move down her hips, reaching around for another feel at her crotch. She rises on her toes a bit, protesting now. I press the pistol into the small of her back at this point and she takes the hint, remaining motionless as I continue, her forehead against the wall. I can feel her shaking violently under my touch. Sliding my hand around to her buttocks, I slip a few fingers between her legs and really feel her up. She is mumbling hysterically now, but you can’t understand what she is saying. Finally, I work further down her legs and find a backup pistol on her ankle. She was smarter than she appeared at first, but then I check out the backup piece and realize it is nothing but a little .22 automatic. More points deducted for inexperience.

Rising back up, I pull her left arm down and behind her and cuff her with her own handcuffs. Then I pull down her right arm and secure her other wrist. Stepping back, I pick up her purse from where I have dropped it.

“Don’t move. Let’s see what we have here….” I begin to rummage through the purse. The revolver is a nice .38 Special. I decide it’s too risky to keep though. I place it to one side and continue. I find a badge with identification. I read it in the moonlight, and it indicates the young woman’s name is Jane Graham. She’s a special agent of some sort apparently. Other than a bit of change and a little makeup compact, there’s nothing else in the purse. She obviously travels light.

“Well Jane, let’s get to know each other a little better shall we? But not here.” I make sure to gather every last item from the purse. Standing again, I take her by the arm and lead her further through the alleys via a back route back to the parking deck where my van waits.

“What’re you going to do with me? Where’re you taking me?” Her voice has no authority to it whatsoever now, and it is sounding very squeakish. I stop abruptly and shove the pistol back into her face.

“No questions! No conversation! No whining! You want to play, we’re going to play! Now keep your mouth shut before I have to shut it permanently! Shake your head yes if you understand!” I’m not quite yelling yet, but my voice has boomed in the quiet alley and I’m only inches from her face. Now thoroughly intimidated, she has backed up into the alley wall and is nodding vigorously, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open. I pull on her arm more harshly now and pick up the pace down the alley way.

Another few minutes and I see the parking deck. I hang back a few minutes, surveying the surroundings. My van is the only vehicle parked on the parking deck now, and there’s nobody else around. After fifteen minutes, I decide it is time to go, but not with an agent in tow.

Turning back down the alley, I force Jane to kneel behind a large pile of trash. She shakes her head at me negatively, but doesn’t dare speak, her eyes glued to the muzzle of the gun inches from her face. I force her down anyway, until she’s sitting on her butt on the cold filthy concrete. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the dead partner’s cuffs. I slip them around her ankles and cinch them painfully tight. She squirms a bit, but doesn’t speak. Eyeing me suspiciously, she hesitantly bites her lip and again shakes her head negatively as I slip my belt off.

“I’m not raping you - yet!” I force the belt between her teeth and cinch it behind her head tightly. The buckle is probably digging into the back of her neck, but I don’t care as long as she’s effectively muzzled.

Stepping back, I notice she’s squirming, and able to move her bound wrists and ankles a bit, but I don’t want her rolling around at all. Looking around, I notice some heavy packing strap, the yellow plastic kind, in the pile of trash. There are several pieces at least six or eight feet long by maybe a half inch wide, and I retrieve them from the trash pile. Returning to Jane, I roll her on her side and loop one end around the connecting chain of the handcuffs at her wrists, then pull it tight. Tugging it down smartly, Jane protests a bit around the belt before I loop it around the cuffs at her ankles in the same manner. When I pull the loose ends tight, Jane is rolled over onto her stomach onto the alley floor, and her wrists and ankles are cinched towards each other. When I have them as tight as I can, I knot the loose ends together. The plastic strapping is difficult to knot, but I finally manage to achieve some sort of secure knot. As a last precaution, I begin tossing trash from the heap over her. She struggles, but can’t move more than an inch or so and is completely incapacitated as far as getting away or screaming for help. Another few minutes and she’s completely hidden from sight. The only evidence of her being an occasional rustle of old newspaper concealing her hidden body and some garbled grunting.

I turn back to the alley way entrance and pause again to notice the street. I wait another five minutes and then head back down the alley the way I’d come. I walk past Jane’s hiding spot, and pass back through the alleys until I come out at a point well past the alley, and beyond the parking deck. Walking back now towards the parking deck, I casually make my way to my vehicle, now coming from a direction opposite from any possible commotion. I can see the glow of blue and red flashing lights reflecting against some of the taller buildings in the distance, and figure they’ve found the body already. Damn that was quick! Still taking my time, I get into my van and start it up. Reliable as ever, it starts on the first try. Pulling out of the parking deck, I turn out onto the street and slowly drive past the alley way entrance. Hitting the brakes abruptly as I switch off the headlights, I shift into reverse and back up into the alley. Anyone not looking directly at me would not have seen me as the entire procedure only takes seconds.

Shifting into park, I’m already moving to the back of the van and throwing the doors open. Leaping to the ground, I turn and open the hidden compartment, then move quickly over to Jane’s hiding position. Throwing the trash to one side, I dig down to her. She is staring wide eyed, and her white teeth have bitten down into the leather belt and saliva is dripping around it.

Grabbing her roughly, I pick her up and carry her back to the van, throwing her into the hidden compartment. I pull the seat back down over her, climb back in through the back and pull the doors to. Moving up to the driver’s seat, I shift the van back into drive and pull quietly out onto the street. Only as I’m pulling up to the intersection do I turn the headlights back on.

I drive perhaps a mile, taking every turn possible to get further away from the area of the theater before I spot the first patrol vehicle. It’s heading towards the theater at high speed, it’s lights flashing brightly. I doubt they‘ve even noticed me as I head towards the intersection from a block away. They’re intent on the original scene of the crime, so I have perhaps a few minutes before they realize they need to expand their search area.

I spend the next two hours zigzagging throughout the city before deciding I haven’t been followed. Finally, after several turns, I am faced with the on ramp to the freeway and am gunning it. I head home, still pondering how I’m going to handle the interrogation. Questioning someone is not something I normally do, so I have to think about it a bit. Usually when I have to exercise my persuasive charms, it’s only to get a subject to conduct herself as I wish, and I have no interest in her knowledge or lack of thereof. How do I get information without being misled? Besides, I don’t really want to physically injure her either, so I have to question her using methods that ensures she will respond to me without having to induce injury. By the time I turn the vehicle towards home, I’ve hit on a plan that may work.

Arriving home, I leave Jane in the van while I head upstairs to the security apparatus and activate everything. When I’m finished, a mouse couldn’t get in without an alarm going off. Only then do I return to my latest victim.

When I open the secret compartment, Jane jumps visibly. She’s obviously on edge and nervous as hell. I pick her up and place her on the rolling table, slipping a leather restraint belt across her body, and leaving her arms and legs bound. I don’t want her to have any information about my activities that she doesn’t already have before questioning her, so I don’t take her to the usual preparation room. Instead, I take her to an adjacent secondary room. I‘d set it up years ago, but never used it before as there was never a reason. It became a de facto storage room. Now I roll Jane in and turn on the lights. At the sight of all of the torture and restraint implements, she begins to scream around the belt again.

Luckily, I have a plan by now. I don’t want to physically damage her, as that’s not the way I work, so I have to give her the option of something unpleasant that she does not want to do or experience, and something even more unpleasant that she can’t stand. I go over to one corner of the room, and pull out a large metal box. Sliding it over beside the rolling table, I open it up. Then moving over to a glass front medicine cabinet, I search through it until I find a specific vial and a small syringe. Moving back to the table, I draw some of the chemical into the syringe before moving back to Jane’s side. Seeing the vial, she thrashes about, futilely trying to pull away from me.

Careful not to inject it into her tongue, cheek or gums, I slide the needle between her clinched teeth and the belt, then squirt it into her mouth. Her gag reflex tries to kick in, but she still swallows most of it. I then remove the leather table strap and transfer her to the metal box. She’s gagging too hard to scream. Before closing the lid, I remove the belt. She takes several deep breaths before the lid smacks down and I lock it.

The chemical I gave her is a powerful purgative. It’ll cause her to have a combination of diarrhea, nausea, and loose bladder. Within a half hour, she’ll be unsuccessfully trying to control her bodily functions, but will still be enclosed within the box. When she’s gushing out of all three appropriate body orifices, she’ll still be confined to the metal box and hence will have to put up with the extreme discomfort she’ll be enduring. The plan is that she’ll be so dispirited and disgusted by the time I come back for her that she will be willing to tell me anything to get out of that box. The best part is that I don’t have to physically injure her either!

I leave the room and go back upstairs to check the news, police scanner, and the security measures. The television is full of news about the “incident” downtown. All of the spokespersons are expressing shock at the event, and the police are grimly replying with a “no comment” as the reporters try to question them. Eventually, I realize that they have no clue what’s happened or what’s going on. There’s no mention of Jane.

Going to the security system, I tap a few commands into the computer and a small surveillance monitor begins to glow. Another few seconds and it’s focused. I had them put in place years ago, and they show all of the local police department conference rooms. I couldn’t get them into the private offices, but since most of the major command decisions are made by committee, the conference rooms get me most of what I need. They are even now showing me a meeting between local and not-so-local police officials. They’re discussing the case, and for the first time I hear Jane mentioned.

“We have no clue where she is!” This came from a very heavy set suit type sitting at one end of the table. “It’s like she dropped of the face of the earth. We found her partner Sean, but all we know is that he was killed by some sort of custom bullet. It’s untraceable. It’s obvious that whoever killed him took Agent Graham. Without more information, we have nothing to go on. Does anyone have any idea what they were even working on?”

“Their computers indicate they were investigating a white slavery ring.” A tall thin man with a bad comb over was on the opposite end of the conference table. “Unfortunately, most of their information is based on circumstantial evidence. Missing persons, rumors, old police files, that sort of thing. Nothing concrete though. They sort of synthesized a theory and began to investigate it from that angle. Apparently, they ran into something. Whether it really was a white slavery ring or whether it was simply them stumbling into a drug deal gone bad, we don’t know.”

“Well, I doubt this is a drug deal.“ responded the portly man from the other end of the table. “This was clean and efficient. Only one shot, within no more than ten feet. The round is completely untraceable, and there’s no spent shell casings. Our agent was taken completely by surprise. The bullet wound itself is like nothing else we’ve ever seen before. No, whoever did this was not into drugs. This is something different. What leads did they have? Anything we can check into?”

“Nothing. The only clue we have is an address on the north side of town. We’re checking into it now.”

“Well, do so discreetly. If our perps are holed up with Agent Graham, we don’t want to spook them into doing anything rash.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve already taken that into account. Our men are moving in undercover. We already have a perimeter set up and nothing, but nothing, is getting in or out of that address without our knowing it!”

At this statement, I bolt upright. Pulling out my address book, I check the address they’re mentioning and begin to grin. The address they’re focusing on is for a rival of mine. His name is Harold Antoine. He showed up in the city three years ago and immediately began to compete for my clients. So far, I haven’t lost any sales to him, but he has managed to be an annoyance to me. The manner in which he carries out his operations is also quite hazardous. He doesn’t take the same level of precautions that I do. The greatest risk at this point is if he is apprehended, he can lead the police to our mutual clients. If the police manage to apprehend any of my clients, they can potentially trace them back to me.

I sit back in the leather seat and contemplate the matter further while listening in on the conversation over the surveillance system. It seems in their bureaucratic haste, they plan a lengthy surveillance operation that will take a week or two. Procedure is more important apparently than the possibility that their fellow officer could end up killed. This gives me plenty of time to deal with the matter in my own way.

I check the clock and realize it‘s been at least an hour since I locked Agent Graham into her box. Rolling the leather chair back from the desk, I stand and head down to the dungeon. I grab a kerchief I sometimes wear when riding my motorcycle during cold weather. When I get there, I can smell the odor already at the door of the room. The chemicals have been extremely effective, and poor Agent Graham must be in true misery by now. Hopefully, when I open the lid she will spill what is left of her guts and tell me everything. Pulling the kerchief up, I cover my mouth and nose and head over to the box. If I had a gas mask I would have worn that. That is one putrid odor coming out of that box! As an afterthought I slip on some rubber cleaning gloves. This is really going to be messy.

Removing the padlock, I fling open the box lid and step back. Agent Graham starts up and begins thrashing about, desperate to climb out of the rancid pool of her own wastes she is lying in. With her arms bound behind her and her ankles cuffed, she’s been forced to lie in her own body fluids, even when I open the lid. Her eyes focus on me and I see very little intelligence there, only an animalistic need to escape. With the lid off, the odor increases at least tenfold and I almost gag myself. Stepping forward I grab her by the hair and lift her head up onto the edge of the box. Gasping for breath, she continues to look at me forlornly, stark fear and madness alternating behind her rolling eyes. She’s covered in her own filth, and traces of vomit dribble down her chin. Her once expensive clothing is completely ruined.

“I guess you know by now that you are in deep shit, literally. So I am going to ask you to tell me everything you and your partner had figured out.”

At this point, Jane begins to sputter profusely, jabbering about investigations and “Wally”, her now dead partner, and referring to me as “Mr. Antoine“. I tell her to shut her up after only a few seconds. When she doesn’t stop talking, I place a rubber gloved hand over her mouth until she takes the hint.

“I said I am going to ask you one time, and one time only. You’ll tell me everything you know and what state your investigation was in. But, I’m not going to ask you now. I know this is a lot of information to give up, and I can understand that you want time to consider your answer. I want you also to understand that I’ve been following the news and doing my own little investigation. If you give me any information that doesn’t match what I already know to be fact, you are going to be in deeper shit than you already are. Do you understand?”

Jane hesitantly nods affirmatively. I then shove her head back down into the box as she screams and wails for me to let her out. Her screaming is fortunately cut off short along with the stench when the lid closes and I once again padlock it shut.

Slipping the gloves off, I take the kerchief down from my face and walk back out. Heading upstairs, I arm myself once again, and pause to take deep breaths of fresh air. I am sickened myself, both by my actions as well as by the odor from the box. Between what I have picked up from the bugs planted at the police station and what Agent Graham just sputtered out, I know I am not the object of attention, and that they have no clue as to who I am or where I am or what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I can’t chance that it will stay that way. I stop by my personal armory and pick up a few things, including incendiary grenades, and head back to the garage. I pause for a few minutes and search my workbench before finding a small gas can. Stuffing all of this into the saddlebags on my motorcycle, I rev it up and head back out into the night.